


Auld Lang Syne

by Ravenhoot



Series: Ill-Fitting Pants (And Other Dire Hideous Clothes) [2]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket, All the Wrong Questions - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Could Be Canon, Established Relationship, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Kitlaf, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Prequel, V.F.D., associates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 02:14:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14707179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenhoot/pseuds/Ravenhoot
Summary: Pre-schism VFD. When Kit loved Olaf and Beatrice loved Lemony and the world was quiet.Something happens at the annual VFD New Years Eve party that will make it much more memorable than past years.Rated M for sensuality. (no smut).A prequel toThe Fox and The Count.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't a "fix-it" necessarily but more of a "how I wish things could have been pre-ASOUE". 
> 
> If you read, please leave a comment and/or a kudos (if you feel I deserve it). Thanks!

Kit fidgeted with the brass buttons on her coat while she waited in the foyer. There were still flurries of snow on her shoulders and in her hair. She had just removed her gloves when she caught sight of someone coming down the staircase.

“Countess, how lovely to see you,” Kit greeted.

A middle-aged woman reached the bottom of the stairs and took Kit’s hand, squeezing it softly. She kissed Kit on both cheeks.

“Oh my dear, you look so lovely!” Countess Crivelli remarked.  

Kit curtsied slightly as she replied, “You’re too kind, Countess.”

“Dearest Kit, how many times have I told you to call me ‘Eleanor’?”

“I’m sorry, Countess, it just doesn’t seem proper.”

“Oh, kerfuffle to proper! You sound like Walter.” She exclaimed as she took a seat on the chaise settee. 

Kit laughed as the Countess motioned for her to come sit beside her.

“Now my dear. I hope you don’t think I’m being forward, but there’s something I must ask you.”

Kit remained silent, inviting the Countess to continue.

“How do you feel about my son?”

Kit’s brow furrowed in confusion. “You… your son?”

"Yes," Eleanor said with a bemused expression. "My son. Viscount Crivelli. You must know him. Tall and lanky, a penchant likelihood for getting into mischief, and a hairstyle with a mind of its own?"

Kit didn't try to hide her amusement as she replied, "Well, I should hope I know him. He's only my best friend."

The Countess's smile faltered slightly. "Best friend," she repeated. "Is that all?"

"Ma'am, you know how I feel about Olaf..."

"I  _suspect_ I know how you feel," the Countess corrected. "But I need to hear it."

Kit breathed in, counted to five, and breathed out. She looked down at her hands in her lap. She didn't understand why it was so difficult to say out loud. She'd told Olaf dozens... no, hundreds of times, that she loved him. Why was it so hard to tell his mother? She wasn't sure, but she suspected it was some subconscious feeling of not being worthy of the Crivelli name. She knew Olaf's father didn't think much of his only son dating a commoner but Eleanor had always been so kind to her and always made her feel welcome. Kit took another deep breath and looked back up to meet Eleanor's eyes.

“Do you love my son?” The Countess asked directly thought not unkindly. 

"With all my heart," Kit answered immediately, not giving herself time to overthink her reply.

“Well,” Eleanor declared. “Then that settles that.”

Kit, bewildered and slightly taken aback, asked, “Umm, settles what, exactly?”

“My husband is having delusions of grandeur and seems to believe that marrying our son off to the Duke of Winnipeg’s daughter will somehow resuscitate his great-grandfather’s position of power.”

Kit suddenly felt sick to her stomach. She and Olaf hadn’t exactly discussed marriage but it was implied that that was the direction they were headed in. Besides, the though of him marrying some noblewoman just for his father’s satisfaction made her both nauseous and furious. She swallowed the hard lump that had formed in her throat before asking tentatively, “And what do you believe, Countess?”

“I believe my husband is a fool. And I’ve told him as much. Generations ago, when the Crivelli family still served under the king as royal advisers, it would have been almost required for Walter to arrange a marriage for our son. But those days are so far behind us. We don't even have a king any longer. It’s foolish to even consider such things. Especially when my son is clearly smitten with such a lovely young lady such as yourself. I've told Walter if he tries to force this, it wouldn't surprise me in the least if you two went off and eloped somewhere just to spite him!”

Kit was saved from having to come up with a reply by the Viscount emerging from the parlor, fastening his cufflinks as he approached the two women.

“Oh my son, you look so handsome!” Eleanor exclaimed.

Though she remained quiet, Kit wholeheartedly agreed. Olaf was tall and lean, dressed in a black tuxedo. Kit couldn’t help but peer past him at the photograph on the wall. There was one identical to it in her own home, sitting in a frame on top of the piano. It showed two of her favorite men posed and smiling as part of the Prufrock Preparatory drama club. The man on the left was her younger brother, Lemony. The man on the right was Olaf himself. She observed that the only real difference was that the Olaf in the photo was clean shaven whereas the Olaf that stood in front of her had grown a goatee, which matched in color to his chestnut hair. Kit stifled a giggle. She hadn’t quite figured out the secret to his unique hairstyle.

“Thank you, mother,” Olaf said, securing the last cufflink in place. “Father needs help with his bow tie.”

Eleanor Crivelli shook her head with a bemused expression. “That man. I’ll be tying his bow ties until we’re old and feeble. You two better go on ahead of us. No point in all four of us being late. Olaf, you two take the car and just send Reginald back to fetch us once he drops you off.” She retreated to the parlor, leaving her son and Kit in the foyer.

The Viscount glanced over at Kit, who shrugged with a smirk that plainly said _we’d better do as she says._ He donned a tailored wool coat over his tuxedo and extended his arm to Kit. She interlocked her arm at the crook of his elbow as two attendants opened the rich mahogany double doors of the Crivelli manor. A long sleek black automobile stood waiting at the foot of the stairs with a valet waiting to open the rear passenger door.

Soon, they were nestled into the back of the warm car being whisked across town for their organization’s most highly anticipated event of the year – the New Year’s Eve party. Kit wasn’t sure why, but she always felt awkward being waited on by the Crivelli’s house staff. Her own parents were certainly not poor by any means, but they didn’t have servants or drivers. It was inarguable that the Crivellis were by far the most prestigious family in the city.

Count Walter was a descendant of a long line of Crivellis dating back to when the city was ruled by a monarchy. If Kit remembered correctly, Olaf’s great-great-great grandfather had served as Count under the last King before the monarchy dissolved. The city evolved into a more democratic governing system, yet the Crivelli family retained all of its wealth and status.

Suddenly, Olaf’s voice pulled Kit back to the present.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Why would something be wrong?”

“Because you’ve got that look…”

“What look?”

“The one where you're thinking extra hard about something. The one where your eyebrows are scrunched and you’re frowning.”

Kit furrowed her brow even further, crossed her eyes, and stuck out her tongue. Olaf responded by kissing her on the nose, which caused her eyes to cross even more. Kit realized that this was one of those moments that caused her brother to describe her and Olaf as “disgustingly in love.” As she smiled to herself, the car slowed to a stop.

Reginald held the car door open for them. They slid out and hurried through the swirling snow into Veblen Hall. Olaf caught sight of some of his parents’ friends and they waved him over. Kit paused long enough to shed her coat, leaving it with the attendant at the coat check desk. Olaf seemed to remember he was still wearing his, and turned to make his way back to the entrance. It was the first time that evening he’d seen Kit without her coat on and what he saw knocked the wind out of him.

Getting the wind knocked out of you can be figurative or literal. If you literally get the wind knocked out of you, you more than likely fell flat onto your back and momentarily couldn’t catch your breath. Hopefully, that has never happened to you. But if you figuratively get the wind knocked out of you, that simply means that you saw or heard something that you weren’t expecting that surprised or shocked you enough to give you the sensation of feeling like you couldn’t breathe.

Olaf clearly hadn’t fallen flat on his back but felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him nevertheless. He was staring at Kit, who looked stunning from head to toe. She’d curled her hair, which was something she very rarely did, so it cascaded down her shoulders and halfway down her back, bouncing slightly as Kit moved her head like a waterfall gently cascading over a ledge.

Kit was a practical woman and therefore rarely dressed up. But the VFD New Year’s Eve party was an extravagant event. She’d chosen a midnight blue halter gown for the evening and every inch of it was covered with tiny crystals and sequins that reflected the many lights of the banquet hall. The dress clung to her in all the right places, accentuating a figure that she more often tried to hide. The bodice was tight, but not uncomfortably so, but still left most of her upper back exposed. From her hips, the gown flowed freely. When it reached her feet, it seemed as if the night sky had somehow turned to liquid – the dress pooled slightly at her feet in a modest train.

Olaf stood gaping at her, his mouth slightly open.

“Better close that thing or you’ll start catching flies,” Jacques Snicket said with a chuckle.

Olaf snapped back to the present, shook his head just slightly, and turned to Kit’s brother.

“After all, that is my sister you’re ogling,” Jacques added.

“Oh, piss off, Snicket.”

Jacques chuckled again and clapped Olaf on the shoulder good-naturedly.

“Not ‘til I’ve annoyed you properly. How are you, my friend?” He asked.

“Things are swell. How about your side of town? You still chasing after that waitress?”

“First of all, she was a graduate student from the university and waitressed to pay her way through school. And second… no.”

Olaf raised his eyebrow. “Not afraid of commitment, are you?”

Jacques scoffed in mock offense. “Me? Afraid of commitment? Why, Crivelli, you know I’m not afraid of anything!”

“Except… there was that one time in Bangladesh,” Olaf taunted.

“Okay! Okay! You’ve made your point. Not another word!”

Olaf laughed until he clutched his side while Jacques tried, unsuccessfully, to get him to stop. Kit appeared beside them, drawn by the sound of laughter. It made her heart sing to see her brother and her beloved getting along.

 _Now if only L would stop being so... L,_ Kit thought. Her younger brother thought the Crivelli family was a little too high society to fraternize with, despite the fact that he'd been friends with Olaf at Prufrock Prep. Apparently it was fine to have been friends with Olaf at school, but not for his sister to be romantically involved with him.

“What sort of mischief are you two up to? From the sight of my brother’s red ears, I can guess you’ve embarrassed him somehow?”

Olaf feigned offense. “Why, I wouldn’t _dream_ of doing something like that!”

Kit rolled her eyes before hugging her twin brother warmly. Someone called Jacques’ name. He waved his hand to acknowledge he’d heard them.

“I’ll see you later, I’m sure.”

He grasped Kit’s hands and pulled her closer, kissing her cheek. Before he pulled back, he whispered, “You look stunning, sis, and I’m not the only one who thinks so.” He let go of her hands, gave an exaggerated wink, and slipped off through the crowd.

Kit shook her head but smiled. She felt a familiar hand take hold of hers. Olaf lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it gently.

“You look ravishing,” he said softly, as if saying it any louder would make others aware of it. She was his and his alone. 

Kit blushed but did not pull her hand away. He moved his hand to the small of her back and gently steered her toward the bar.

“Can I buy you a drink, my darling?”

“O, the drinks are free…” she said with a smirk.

“Well, in that case, I’ll buy you two.”

Kit rolled her eyes again but let him lead her to the bar.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I get that Olaf seems OOC but I just see it as more of this is what his character was like before he went down the path of villainy.

“Kit!”

Kit looked for the source of the sound of her name. She spotted it almost immediately.

“Beatrice!” Kit had to shout to be heard over the din of the growing crowd.

They inched their way along the bar with many “Excuse me’s” and “Begging your pardon’s” until they met in the middle.

Beatrice surveyed Kit, a word which here means “looked her over” rather than asking her questions about her opinion on a topic for market research.

“Well bless my stars,” Beatrice declared. “Kit you look amazing! Olaf, I’d tip my hat to you, that is I would if I was wearing one! I don’t know anyone else who could get this woman into a ballgown _and_ get those pencils out of her hair! And you look quite fetching yourself.”

“Ah Beatrice. Flattery will get you everywhere,” Olaf replied, taking her gloved hand and kissing it.

“Where’s my brother?” Kit inquired as she looked for him among the sea of familiar faces. “I expected he’d be here with you.”

“You know Lemony,” Beatrice replied exasperatedly. “He insisted we should arrive separately.”

“So he’s still just as paranoid as ever, then?” Olaf asked.

“I don’t know where he gets it from,” Kit contributed. “Our parents taught us caution, sure, but he goes a bit above and beyond what I’d consider ‘healthy paranoia.’”

They all laughed and sipped their champagne. Kit loved the annual New Year’s Eve party. It was true she didn’t dress up often and this was a perfect excuse to do so. She loved the bright colors of everyone’s party attire. Nearly every woman’s gown was adorned with sequins or crystals, as is the tradition of new year’s eve. There was something liberating about being able to have a fresh start with the ringing in of a new year. It was as if every year, at the stroke of midnight, the slate was wiped clean and you had a chance to correct any wrong decisions you’d made before.

The band began to play a waltz. Before she’d met Olaf, she didn’t know how to dance. But that had been more than ten years ago and she’d learned a great many things since then, dancing among them. He raised his eyebrow and extended his hand. She glanced at Beatrice briefly.

“Oh go on, then. Lem will be here any minute. I’m sure of it!”

“You’re sure he’s coming?” Olaf interrogated. “It wouldn’t surprise me if he just didn’t show. He's skipped the last several events. So many of us all in one place… it’s just the sort of environment he’d avoid.” At his words, Kit and Beatrice both glanced around the room and saw a flood of eye-shaped ankle tattoos staring back at them. 

“I told him he didn’t have a choice this year. He’ll show," Beatrice said with certainty.  

Olaf nodded curtly as Kit took his hand. He led her through the throngs of people to the marble dance floor. Kit knew one of his favorite things in the world was dancing. She also knew she was probably one of the few people in the world to know that.

As they danced, the hall grew more crowded with faces Kit recognized. Ike and Josephine Anwhistle were dancing not far from her and Olaf. Monty and Jacqueline stood by the staircase. Jacqueline was wearing a sublime feather boa; Monty had an _actual_ boa draped over his shoulders. Esmé Squalor stood at the bar with a cigarette on a sleek black cigarette holder while Jerome turned up his nose. _Smoking must be in_ , Kit thought. Two of the three Denouement triplets appeared to be reorganizing the recipe cards at the bar. Mr. & Mrs. Quagmire were at the appetizer table debating over the proper pronunciation of the word “pecan.” The only person she didn’t see from her training class was Bertrand Baudelaire.

When Kit’s feet started to hurt from the pinchy heels Beatrice had _insisted_ went perfectly with her dress, they took a break from dancing and found their designated table. Olaf took hold of Kit’s ankle, slipped her shoe off, and massaged her foot.

“O!” She exclaimed.

“What? You said your feet hurt?” He mused as he ran his thumb over the eye-shaped insignia on the inside of her ankle.

“Yes, but… won’t people think it’s tactless for me to have my shoes off?”

“Who cares what people think.”

"Your father, for one..." Kit replied, casting a nervous glance at the table where the Count and Countess were seated. 

"My father is a pretentious snob. I don't care what he thinks."

Kit shook her head in mock frustration but allowed him to continue rubbing her sore feet.

As the evening wore on, Jacques came over to the table to announce that Lemony had finally arrived and pointed to the bar. Kit looked to where he was pointing and saw her younger brother engaged in conversation with Captain Widdershins and Beatrice. He looked up and spotted Kit, waved at her, and resumed his conversation.

Kit thought she heard Olaf mutter, “finally” but couldn’t be sure. He did excuse himself from the table, went and spoke to someone from the band, and returned to the table as if nothing had happened. Kit looked bewildered at Jacques, who shrugged in reply. But when she turned to speak to someone at the next table, Jacques mouthed a wordless “thank you” to Olaf, unseen by Kit.

The band started to play a song that Kit recognized immediately. It was one of her favorites despite the fact that she could never remember its name. Olaf stood and took Kit’s hand, pulling her to her feet.

“But my feet still hurt,” Kit objected.

“Tough,” he replied with a wink.

“I’m not wearing any shoes!”

“Your dress is long enough no one will even know.”

It was true—Kit’s gown was long enough that it covered her feet and no one seemed to realize she was barefoot. They danced and spun and Olaf dipped her at all the right moments. It was one of the reasons Kit loved the song so much; it was so much fun to dance to. When the song was nearly over, the music stopped abruptly. Kit looked around to see what caused the music to be cut off. She saw several people looking back at her, some almost expectantly. She tilted her head the way a dog does when it hears a high pitched sound and looked to Olaf for explanation but his face was unreadable.

He took her hand and sank to one knee.  _Oh._

“Kit Snicket,” he began. She couldn’t help but appreciate that though it would have been proper, he didn’t say Katherine. She hated her full first name. She’d gone by Kit since she was old enough to talk.

“When I was a boy, I had a plan for how my life would go. Meeting you certainly wasn’t part of it but sometimes that’s just how the story goes and I wouldn't go back and change it for anything. When I fell in love with you, that plan became insignificant. With you, I'm happier than I've ever been. The only plan that matters now is one with you in it. Would you do me the greatest honor a man could have by becoming my wife?”

He held out a ring that Kit was certain cost a small fortune. A massive cushion cut stone encircled by a halo of smaller diamonds sat atop a split shank platinum band with diamonds encrusted all the way around.

Kit stood speechless with her mouth open, just as Olaf’s had been when he’d seen her earlier that evening. She couldn’t help but think about her conversation with his mother. Did Olaf know his father wanted to arrange his marriage to the future Duchess of Winnipeg? If he did know, did he care? Was this a blatant attempt at disregarding his father’s wishes? He had to have known. 

All of this Kit thought in an instant. She realized she didn’t care what Count Crivelli’s plans were because as Olaf had said, the only plan that mattered now was the plan that involved her and him. The Viscount was kneeling at her feet, asking her to marry him. _And he’s waiting for an answer!_ Kit’s mind screamed at her.

Olaf had just started to look unsure, as if he’d misjudged what her answer would be. Kit saw the uncertainty flash across his face. It was there only for an instant. She mentally kicked herself for not following her brother’s advice – do the scary thing first and get scared later.

So Kit threw caution to the wind, a phrase which here means “didn’t care if her answer messed up Olaf's father's plans.” She broke into an enormous smile and nodded fervently. "Oh, Olaf. Of course!"

Olaf let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding as he stood. He slipped the ring on her finger and took her face in both hands. He kissed her enthusiastically and when Kit drew back, she saw and heard the entire room erupting into cheers and applause. She scanned the crowd and spotted her brother Lemony, his arm around Beatrice. Beatrice was waving her hand with her own engagement ring and kept pointing to Kit. Kit knew exactly what her friend was implying -  _We can plan our weddings together!_  Further down the bar, she saw Jacques raising a glass in a wordless toast.

Olaf took Kit by the hand and led her to a table. His parents were there; Eleanor dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief while Walter clapped his son on the shoulder and said, “Well done.” He was smiling, so Kit took that as a good sign and when he kissed her cheek and said, "Welcome to the family, sweetheart," she took that as an even better sign.  _I wonder if Eleanor knew Olaf was planning to do this and said something to his father on the way here,_ she thought. That had to have been it - Eleanor questioning Kit about her feelings for Olaf inspired confidence that Kit would say yes to his proposal, so she must have coaxed Count Crivelli into giving up his idea of the arranged marriage.

A waiter came by the table with a tray of champagne. The Crivellis and Kit all took one. Kit glanced up at the clock on the stage. It was 11:56. They were joined by Lemony, Beatrice, Jacques, and many of their other friends as the last few minutes ticked by. Kit suddenly realized then that Olaf had been waiting all evening until Lemony had arrived. After the loss of their parents, he'd wanted to make sure that both of her brothers were there to witness her engagement. She was grateful to all of them. She knew it must have taken a combined effort from Olaf, Jacques, and Beatrice to convince Lemony to show up. 

As the crowded room counted down the last seconds in unison, Kit glanced around the crowd and saw the faces of so many people she loved. She was lost in thought when she heard what she believed must be every single guest collectively shout, “Three…two… one! Happy New Year!” Confetti rained down from party poppers that had exploded from the ceiling. Champagne toasts clinked all around her and as she took the last sip from her own champagne flute, Olaf tenderly took her chin in one hand and pulled her in, kissing her gently. She closed her eyes as she tried to imprint all the details of this night in her memory, knowing that for the rest of her life, this would be a night she would never forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A line from Olaf's proposal was borrowed from the song "My Heart I Surrender" by I Prevail. It just seemed so perfect, but it's their song, not mine, so of course, I must give credit where credit is due.


	3. Chapter 3

Shortly after the midnight, Kit was sliding into the back of the Crivellis’ long black car as a gust of wind blew snow in all directions. She hadn’t bothered buttoning her coat, which she now regretted. Olaf climbed in behind her, pulling her close once he was settled.

“Your hands are freezing!” He exclaimed. 

“That’s because I’m fairly certain my gloves are still inside,” Kit replied.

Olaf brought her hand close to his mouth and blew on her fingers to warm them. Kit rested her head on his shoulder. Between the lateness of the hour and the several glasses of champagne she’d had, she was finding it difficult to keep her eyes open. She wasn’t ready to fall asleep yet. She wanted to stay awake as long as possible so the night would never end. She felt Olaf kiss her on the top of her head and watched the snow swirl furiously outside the car’s darkened windows as it whisked them back to the Crivelli manor.

*************************************

Kit woke to the sound of a car door closing and realized she must have fallen asleep in the car. She heard Reginald, the driver, ask if Olaf needed anything further. He didn't, and said so. Olaf was always kind to his family’s servants. Reginald, she'd learned, had been with Olaf's family since Olaf was born. She felt something silky against her cheek and opened her eyes just enough to gain her bearings. Her cheek was against the black satin pocket square of Olaf’s tuxedo.

In spite of Olaf’s lean physique, Kit realized how muscular he was. He carried her as if she were weightless and seemed not to struggle at all as he climbed up the stairs. He laid her gently onto a luxurious goose down mattress with satin sheets. With her face against the pillow, she inhaled deeply. She smelled cedar and something earthy. She could easily picture him standing in front of the fireplace with glass of red wine as he read lines from whatever play he was working on. He was far from the best actor in the business, but he so loved the stage.

She peeked her eyes open again and saw he was removing his suit coat, bow tie, and cummerbund. She heard the cuff links make a small clinking noise as he dropped them onto a small metallic tray on his dresser. She’d spent enough time in his room that she knew the layout without having to see it. From the sound of his movements, she knew he’d gone through his closet to the washroom.

She’d been awake and listening to his activities long enough that she was no longer tired. She opened her eyes fully and sure enough, saw him emerge from the washroom in long johns and a dressing robe.

“How long have you been awake?” He asked when he saw her looking at him.

“Just a few minutes. But I’m not tired anymore.”

“What a shame. I was about to tuck you in and go to sleep on the sofa,” he said with a wink, pointing to a chaise lounge between two doors that led to a balcony.

“And leave me in my ball gown?” Kit teased.

“Well, I was giving you the bed. It’s comfortable enough to sleep in anything.”

Kit smirked and raised an eyebrow at him. They already knew one another quite intimately. She could only assume he was being appropriate since his parents would be home and the guest room was being renovated after a leak had sprung in the ceiling. Although they were both in their mid-twenties, they still respected the propriety of fidelity whenever she’d stayed overnight, usually in a guest room. But there were more than a few times when the Count and Countess had been away on official business and on those times, they’d thrown propriety to the winds. This was not the first time Kit found herself in Olaf’s bed.

“Why, how chivalrous of you, Viscount.”

Olaf responded by rolling his eyes and throwing a small square pillow at her from the chaise.

“How dare you accost me with a pillow!” Kit shrieked playfully.

“They’re _throw_  pillows, Kit. I was just using them properly for once.”

Kit leapt off the bed and tossed the pillow back at him. He swatted it aside as if it were nothing but an irksome gnat. When he looked back at Kit, she wore a devilish grin. Olaf’s eyes shined with desire. Kit closed the distance between them, grabbed the collar of his dressing gown firmly, and pulled him down to her. She kissed him intensely and he responded with just as much enthusiasm. He wrapped his long sinewy arms around her waist and ran a hand up her bare spine, making her shiver. She took a few steps backward, never releasing his collar, until she’d fallen backwards onto the bed. Kit reached up and untied the sash at his waist and Olaf released her long enough to shed the robe from his shoulders.

"Wait," Kit gasped breathlessly. She pushed him off of her but rolled to her side so they were facing one another.

"What in seven hells for?" Olaf growled. 

"Should we be doing this when your parents are coming home later?"

"I'm not a boy, Kit. I'm a grown ass man!" 

"And I'm a 'grown ass woman.' It's just... they've always been gone when we've done this..."

"They  _are_ gone! They'll be at that party until damn near dawn." He reached for her waist to pull her closer to him. She didn't protest.

"Yes, but they will be here eventually."

"I don't understand what the problem is?" 

"The problem is what will your father think of us sleeping in the bed together?" Kit fretted. 

"Kit, my love, you worry too much about what my father thinks." 

Kit was silent for a moment, unsure if she wanted to betray Eleanor's confidence. But, she reasoned with herself, if there was one Crivelli she needed to always be honest with, it was Olaf. 

"He wanted to make you marry some Duchess of Winnipeg or something," Kit mumbled. 

"I'm very well aware of what he wanted," Olaf said curtly. "But how did  _you_ know?"

"Your mother told me. Earlier, before we left for the party."

"I told her not to tell you," Olaf growled. "So that's what was bothering you?" 

She nodded. 

"Kit, listen to me," he said softly. "I love you. I would never do anything to hurt you. And I told my father earlier when we were getting ready for the party that I would sooner give up my inheritance and live penniless than marry simply for his own ends and purposes. I told him I was planning to propose to you tonight and he could dislike it all he wanted, but it was happening, with or without his blessing."

"Well, I guess he's on board with it, because he seemed happy during the midnight toast."

"Oh, I think that had a lot to do with his and my mother's car ride over."

"Why?"

"Because she told him that I had her full support and she'd already given me her ring." Olaf's eyes shined with mischief as he took her left hand and laced his fingers with hers. 

"Her..." Kit stammered. "This is  _your mother's ring?!_ That would have been nice to know!" She chided sarcastically. 

"Oh, Kit darling?" Olaf quipped matter-of-factly. "I proposed to you with my mother's engagement ring. Hope that's okay." 

"I can't take your mother's ring!"

"Of course you can. She's thrilled about it."

"She is?"

"Sure. She adores you. Said some sentimental stuff about how the only thing that makes a ring more special than getting it from the man she loved was being able to see her son give it to the woman he loves... ya know, womanly emotional stuff."

"'Womanly emotional stuff?' Just make sure you do us all a favor and stick to acting, love, because you would flop as a writer," Kit teased. 

"Oh, ha ha. Now as titilting as this conversation has been, I can think of so many other things I would rather be doing," Olaf said suggestively, the mischievous glint in his eyes returning. He was lying on his back, one arm underneath his head. Kit was halfway reclined when he reached up and smoothed a strand of hair back from her face and let his fingers get tangled in her hair. When they caught, he tugged slightly, eliciting a soft moan from Kit. 

"Mmm, believe me, I want to... but your parents-" Kit protested. Olaf cut her off by closing his mouth over hers, kissing her hungrily. 

"Their room..." He said, interrupting himself to kiss her again, "is on the other side of the house. And besides-" Another kiss. "You're my fiance now." He held her firmly at the waist and rolled so that their positions were reversed - now he was peering down at her. "And you can be in my bed anytime you damn well please," he growled. 

He kissed her a hundred, a thousand times, but it never felt like enough. He released the clasp of her dress at the nape of her neck and kissed the spot of freshly exposed skin. His long slender fingers began unlacing her bodice. He placed featherlight kissed all the way down her backbone, causing her to shiver again.

“Why, my little vixen, you’re not still cold, are you?” He crooned into her neck.

“You are wicked,” she murmured.

“Maybe so, but you love me anyway,” he purred as he slid the dress down over her hips.

Kit let out a little sign of desire in reply. 

*************************************

Even when it was hungry and passionate, their lovemaking was always intense but unhurried - never rushed. Her gown laid forgotten in a pool on the floor while Kit lay on the bed next to Olaf, who was snoring lightly. She’d awoken when the snow storm outside had grown so fierce, it had blown open the balcony window.

Kit swiftly slid out from underneath the satin sheets and closed the window. She glanced back at Olaf, who was still sleeping soundly. _He can sleep though anything_ , she mused. Still, she crept quietly through the closet into the washroom and snickered when she saw her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was hopelessly tangled from Olaf repeatedly intertwining his fingers in it and her makeup was smeared. Kit tidied herself up before going back through the closet, pausing to select a wrinkled oxford shirt from the hamper.

The shirt’s last four buttons were still fastened, so Kit slipped it over her head. It was too big for her; whereas it fit Olaf's long torso perfectly, it fell past her hips and halfway down Kit’s thighs. She made sure the lock was secured on the window before she climbed back into bed. Olaf stirred from her movement.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said softly. “Go back to sleep.”

Olaf murmured incoherently. Kit smiled before snuggling in back under the sheets. Olaf snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him. 

“I love you, O,” she whispered, looking fondly at the ring on her left hand. For the first time in a long time, she felt hopeful for the future.


End file.
